


Until there's nothing left of us

by StrikerEureka



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood and Gore, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Holding Hands, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mysophobia, Relationship Negotiation, Survival, The Last of Us AU, Trust, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikerEureka/pseuds/StrikerEureka
Summary: A year after the infectious outbreak that destroyed the world, Atsumu and a handful of other survivors are living in the relative safety of a prison they’ve secured. Kita leads their group, Suna takes care of them, Atsumu and Osamu cause more trouble than they should, and Sakusa is… Sakusa. Atsumu picked the worst time to develop feelings.Osamu backtracks to him, keeping an eye out as Atsumu unzips his bag and starts to load up everything from the drawer. Bandages, packets of antibiotic gel, gauze pads, and a roll of medical tape. He pushes the drawer in and gives the next one a hard yank. There is an opened box of facemasks inside. The box says twenty count, but only a few remain inside.“Jackpot,” he sing-songs to himself, shoving the whole box inside before zipping his bag back up.Osamu is giving him an unreadable, flat stare as he stands, pulling his bag back into place.“What?” he asks.Osamu only shakes his head, turning back around and heading for the door again.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 68
Kudos: 527
Collections: SakuAtsu Week 2020





	Until there's nothing left of us

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for SakuAtsu Week 2020: Day 2 – for the prompt “ **masks** /hide”.
> 
> Warnings: This is a zombie au, no character death on screen, off-screen character death for obvious reasons. Blood, guts, minor injuries (someone breaks a bone), and death mentions; please read with care. If you see anything that needs to be tagged, let me know. 
> 
> The infected are the clickers from “The Last of Us”. If you’re not familiar with the game, the outbreak spreads from a fungal infection that eventually causes the zombies/clickers to sprout fungal growths from their body that leave them blind. They navigate by sound/clicking. [This is what a clicker sounds like.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzDMlxV7Y9k) Once a clicker dies, they emit spores that, if breathed in, will infect the living.
> 
> Thank you for the beta, Marissa.
> 
> I do not give permission for this work to be reposted anywhere. Please ask me if you wish to translate it.

Atsumu’s first thought is that there is no way he’s going to be able to step around all of the broken glass on the floor without making a sound.

His second thought, as he crouches under the warped metal of the door frame, is that he’s right. 

No matter how lightly he steps or where he places his feet, the thick, once-shatterproof glass crunches underfoot. Behind him, Osamu blows out a steadying breath and follows, ducking under the frame and bringing up his crossbow as he stands. They both pause there, listening. 

There is no faint clicking or groaning or shuffle of feet, but that doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes clickers just stand around, like they’re in suspended animation until they’re activated by foreign sounds or voices. 

Glass crackles underfoot as Osamu comes to stand beside him, crossbow lowered but his finger alongside the trigger. Atsumu takes another humid breath; the air in here is absolutely stifling, sitting heavily in his lungs and making him want to back out into the blistering summer sun and the occasional breeze that rustles the waist-high grass outside.

“This is a waste of time,” Osamu tells him quietly.

Atsumu shifts his bat to his left hand and pulls his glove off with his teeth, wiping his sweaty palm against the leg of his jeans. 

“Won’t know til we look,” Atsumu says, tugging the glove back on and flexing his fingers around the handle of his bat.

“Kita’s gonna kill us.”

Atsumu points him down the right hallway while he takes the left. The layout of the clinic is familiar, a full circle like so many others, with way too many rooms where clickers could be standing in stasis in the dark. Atsumu clicks on his flashlight, peering into the first room and pausing in the doorway to listen.

It’s silent and still, so he steps in, aiming the beam of light around. The cupboards along the far wall are empty, doors standing open, so he backs out again.

It’s the same with the next room, and the next. 

The fourth’s door is halfway closed and he has to open it with the hand holding the flashlight. It groans on its hinges and Atsumu winces, stopping immediately to listen. But no other sound comes, not Osamu’s footsteps or the telltale screech of something alerted to their presence. The building might actually be empty, but he’s not going to treat it like it is.

Aiming the light, he slips in through the opening he’s created and looks around.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling the collar of his shirt up over his nose and backing out, pulling the protesting door shut behind him.

His hands shake as he moves on. The sight of a molded body going to spore stage is not a good thing. They need to get out of here. 

Sweat trickles down his temple, the dead air growing increasingly difficult to breathe the deeper he goes into the building. The next room is empty, and the one after the door is blocked entirely from the inside and he can’t open it without making more noise than it’s worth it to make. Stepping over an upturned triage cart, he checks the last two rooms before he sees the beam of Osamu’s light on the opposing wall, coming closer.

“Anything, ‘Samu?” he whispers.

Osamu comes around the corner with a box in one hand. “Antibiotics, I think,” he says, squatting down and slipping his backpack off to stow his find inside. “Some of those butterfly bandages, too.”

It’s better than nothing and it might save them from getting their asses chewed out when they get back from their detour, but it’s not what Atsumu had been hoping for. He keeps an eye out while Osamu shoulders his pack again and picks up his crossbow and flashlight.

“You?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “Let’s head back. There’s spores in here.”

Osamu nods, gesturing for Atsumu to lead the way. Atsumu aims the beam of his flashlight at the blocked door.

“Can’t open that one.”

“Probably a reason for that.”

Osamu steps over the triage cart and brings his crossbow up, more of a reflex than anything as he peers into the rooms that Atsumu has already checked.

Atsumu stops to open one of the closed drawers on the cart, because he might as well, at this point. It’s jammed but Atsumu pulls hard and it gives with a grating screech that has Osamu spinning on his heels, eyes wide.

“The fuck’re you doing?” he hisses.

Atsumu ignores him, pulling out two unopened rolls of bandages. He squats down, setting his bat and flashlight aside, and pulling the strap of his crossbody backpack until it sits against his chest. Osamu backtracks to him, keeping an eye out as Atsumu unzips his bag and starts to load up everything from the drawer. Bandages, packets of antibiotic gel, gauze pads, and a roll of medical tape. He pushes the drawer in and gives the next one a hard yank. There is an opened box of facemasks inside. The box says twenty count, but only a few remain inside. 

“Jackpot,” he sing-songs to himself, shoving the whole box inside before zipping his bag back up.

Osamu is giving him an unreadable, flat stare as he stands, pulling his bag back into place.

“What?” he asks.

Osamu only shakes his head, turning back around and heading for the door again, not waiting for Atsumu to hurriedly grab his bat and flashlight and follow him back out into the punishing summer heat.

\--

Kita is predictably pissed off at them. While Osamu doesn’t escape the half-shouted lecture they receive upon their return, Atsumu still gets the brunt of it because it was his idea to leave. 

Atsumu keeps the masks and gives Osamu everything from his bag to take to Suna.

“What, don’t wanna get yelled at by Suna, too?”

“Don’t wanna watch you two makin’ dopey eyes at each other, more like,” Atsumu says, tossing his bag onto his bed and taking the box of masks in hand.

Osamu’s eyes drop to it before landing on his own again.

“Sure, just gonna go give your totally platonic gift to Sakusa.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrow and Osamu smiles smugly at him. 

“There’s nothin’ platonic about it; this is pure romance, baby.” Atsumu shakes the box and Osamu swats at it. “Ay!” he shouts, hopping back a step. “Don’t touch my offering!” 

“You’re lame.”

“And yer a jerk.”

Osamu bids him farewell with both of his middle fingers. 

The sun is still beaming overhead when Atsumu steps out into the yard. They’ve had control of the prison for the better part of six months, now. Their watches and rounds are well-established, at this point. He knows exactly where to go to find Sakusa; even if he doesn’t know exactly what time it is, he knows the position of the sun means that he’s still on guard tower duty.

It’s the only place Sakusa doesn’t mind being because he says that the air is clearer up there. And he can be entirely alone. 

Atsumu climbs the ladder with the box of masks pinched between two of his fingers. If he were giving it to anyone else, he’d just hold one of the flaps between his teeth, but he doesn’t think Sakusa would appreciate that very much. It’s awkward going, and he certainly makes enough noise to announce himself, but he still calls, “Omi-kun!” as he nears the top.

Sakusa sits outside on the catwalk, the door behind him open so the breeze can roll in. He doesn’t acknowledge Atsumu at all.

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, turning his head to sniff himself as he raises his arm. He doesn’t stink, even if he is a little sweaty from the long walk back to the prison. His hair could use a wash, though. And a dye job; there’s hardly any blonde left in his hair at all. He plasters on a smile and steps out to join Sakusa. 

“Miss me?” he asks.

“With every shot so far.”

Atsumu lets out a huff of laughter as he drops down to sit, leaving enough room for another person between them. He tucks his legs under the railing and lets his feet dangle. Sakusa glances over at him and then goes back to looking out at the field beyond the border fence. He has a towel over the bar that sits at face height that he rests his forearms on, chin sat on top of them.

Atsumu watches him for a moment. Sakusa has been quiet and withdrawn ever since he and Osamu caught him off guard and alone in a pharmacy, just barely a week before they took over the prison. He’d been instrumental in helping them clear and secure it. He can land a headshot from any distance and he handles a pistol better than any of the rest of them do. Before that, he’d been alone since his friend had died, two months prior. 

No one survives alone, but Sakusa had. He’d even seemed to prefer it that way, but he’s still with them and Atsumu is glad for it.

Atsumu has never wanted to run headlong through another person’s walls like he does with Sakusa. While Sakusa hasn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy with any of them, Atsumu knows he isn’t imagining that Sakusa’s frigid exterior has thawed a bit. He doesn’t avoid Atsumu or completely ignore his attempts at conversation anymore. Atsumu’s proximity doesn’t seem to burn him as it once did, either. And that’s the part that Atsumu likes the most, just being allowed closer.

He sets the box in the space between them and then rests both of his arms on the railing, setting his cheek on his forearms, mirroring Sakusa’s pose, minus the towel.

Sakusa glances down, staring for a moment before he sits upright and reaches out to pick up the box. He lifts the top flap and looks inside. 

“Should be eight of ‘em,” Atsumu says, squinting against the sunlight beaming over Sakusa’s shoulder.

Sakusa pulls one of the masks out, still pressed flat and new, and hopefully never before touched. He glances at Atsumu as he tucks it away and sets the box beside his thigh. 

“Where did you get these?” he asks.

“Clinic. Got some other shit too, but I was lookin’ fer these.”

“Why?”

Atsumu plants his hands on the grated floor and leans back on them. “I don’t know, maybe ‘cause you’ve been wearin’ a scarf around your face, since you ran out, and it’s hot enough to give a camel heat stroke?”

Sakusa stares at him. There’s sweat beading above his eyebrows and glistening in his cupid’s bow. This is the only place he won’t wear a mask, besides when he sleeps, and even then he usually puts his head under the covers, no matter how stiflingly hot it is at night.

“Same question, why?”

Atsumu huffs, leaning forward again to rest his arms on the guard rail. “Y’know, I can take ‘em back if ya don’t want ‘em.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see the tips of Sakusa’s fingers brush the top of the box. It’s a small eternity before he says, “I want them.”

“Great. Then just take ‘em ‘n say thanks, Omi-kun.” 

Atsumu blows out a breath that ruffles his too-long hair, tossing his head to get it out of his eyes. He stares out at the field, the grass long enough that it’s going to seed, moving in waves with the wind. Songbirds can be heard from the thicket of trees just beyond. Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a breath that clings to the insides of his lungs, humid and thick and gross. There’s a constant breeze, up here, and it feels soothing in counterpoint to the tremendous heat of the summer sun. He understands, in part, why Sakusa likes being up here so much, even if Atsumu doesn’t like it at all. 

Although Atsumu doesn’t do well on his own and, clearly, Sakusa does.

“Thank you,” Sakusa says, his voice quiet, nearly lost to the breeze.

Atsumu blinks his eyes open. Sakusa is looking at him, his dark eyes devoid of emotion but his stare intent. Atsumu nods, the stubble on his cheek chafing against his arm.

“Yer welcome,”

To his great surprise, Sakusa doesn’t force him to leave, like he usually does whenever Atsumu comes up to bother him. They sit quietly together, watching the grass beyond the fence move in the wind. It’s nice. Atsumu remembers a time, not too long ago, when he used to hate silences like this. He’s come to appreciate the lulls and stretches of quiet, because the alternative is chaos and fear. And death.

He takes a deep breath and pushes himself backward to get to his feet. 

“Well, ‘m gonna go take a nap.”

“How can you possibly sleep in this heat?”

“Easy, I’m tired as fuck.”

Sakusa shakes his head but Atsumu thinks there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maybe.

“Later, Omi.”

Sakusa lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave, but Atsumu will take it. It makes his heart kick in his chest, as if Sakusa had done something overt like blown him a kiss. He keeps his eyes fixated on the broad line of Sakusa’s shoulders until he descends too far down the ladder to see him anymore.

\--

When Sakusa comes to eat that night, he’s wearing one of the medical masks that Atsumu had given him. He kicks Osamu beside him so sharply that he gets a hard elbow to the ribs in return.

“The fuck?”

Atsumu doesn’t need to answer him because when Sakusa sits down across the table—and one person removed—from him, Osamu’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. He gives Atsumu an eyeroll and a sigh before going back to his food.

Sakusa glances up at him and nods his head, pulling the mask down to sit below his chin. There are slight indents in his cheeks and Atsumu would put money on him having dimples, but he’s never seen Sakusa smile before so he can’t say for certain. He’d love to find out, though.

He goes back to his dinner, trading increasingly violent kicks with his brother under the table.

\--

Kita takes Atsumu on the next supply run. Usually Kita either goes with Sakusa or Suna and allows Osamu and Atsumu to work together. But he’s obviously still pissed about the last time the two of them left on their own without telling anyone. 

There’s an abandoned village nearby where a few gardens are growing wild and animals are now tending to themselves; they go there when they need food or to gather seeds to plant. When they need other things, like medical supplies or clothes, they head to the city.

It’s more dangerous, for obvious reasons, and they only ever go in groups of two. The more people they have to keep track of, the more likely it is that one of them will die. So they partner up and watch each other’s backs, and make the suicide run into the city only when absolutely necessary.

It’s not a huge place; it was never a major metropolis, or transportation hub, but there is a wildly dangerous amount of clickers around. Clicker numbers are exponentially higher in any city, regardless of size. Atsumu hates it. He hates doing this. And he hates even more that he has to do it without Osamu.

They crouch together in a copse of trees, just before the houses fade out and the buildings begin. Kita is calm and collected, as he always is, tightening the silencer on his gun. Atsumu kneels in the dirt, cracking his knuckles and flexing his fingers. He checks that his hunting knife is still in his thigh sheath, and picks up his bat, testing a few of the bent nails sticking out of it with his thumb; they don’t so much as budge.

He looks at Kita, who is already looking at him.

“Ready?” Atsumu nods. “I don’t know how you and Osamu do this but I can only assume it would make my blood pressure skyrocket.” 

Atsumu’s mouth twists but he doesn’t bother to deny it. Kita would probably have a shitfit if he ever watched the two of them take down a group of clickers. Kita turns to face him more fully, one knee going down as he leans his forearm against the other thigh.

“You follow my lead.”

“I know, Kita.”

“I mean it. Last time Suna and I were here, there were more of them than before. Stay low and keep your mouth shut.”

“I know how to not die.”

Kita doesn’t do more than stare at him for just long enough to make Atsumu shift uncomfortably. He doesn’t know how Kita manages to _do that_ when he’s barely any older than Atsumu is. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

“Let’s go,” Kita tells him, pushing himself up into a low crouch. Atsumu follows behind him, slowly and quietly, determined to not fuck this up and piss Kita off at him anymore than he already is.

The run is for shoes. The tread on Suna’s sneakers is running thin and the toe of one of Atsumu’s boots is giving way to a hole. He wants to find a pair of steel-toes, if he can, but he’s not holding his breath. He just wants something that no one and nothing can bite through. And if they happen to stumble upon another clinic, then Atsumu will talk Kita into checking it out.

They strike pay dirt at a sporting goods store. There’s old, dried blood, and desiccated viscera on the floor in the entryway but no signs of movement within. It’s unlikely that a store this big isn’t housing at least a few clickers but as long as they’re quiet, they can still get in and get out without having to kill or run away from anything.

Together they creep down the aisles, Kita slightly ahead of him, gun at the ready, balanced atop his flashlight hand, just like a cop in a movie. Atsumu keeps his bat up, grip tight, ready to swing. There’s the rustle of movement off in the far, opposite corner of the store, and the telltale clicking that proves they’re not alone.

Kita holds out his arm but Atsumu has already stopped moving. They both stand still, listening. 

“How many?” Atsumu whispers.

“Can’t tell. Two, at least.”

“You wanna take ‘em out?”

Kita mulls it over for a moment before shaking his head. “Not unless they come for us. Let’s just make this quick and get the fuck out of here.” 

They continue on until they reach the aisles of shoes. Thankfully, the clickers don’t seem to notice them. Yet.

“Get yours, I’ve got Suna,” Kita tells him, heading down one aisle on silent feet.

Atsumu creeps around the endcap and into the next aisle. There are still plenty of hiking and hunting-style boots, relatively untouched, on the shelves. Some boxes are scattered across the floor, empty and overturned, but Atsumu is able to pick his way through without making a sound. He’s half-hoping that Kita will take notice of how quiet he’s being. 

He really wants to get off of Kita’s shit list as soon as humanly possible.

When Atsumu finds a pair of boots in his size, he sets his bat down as quietly as possible and squats to unlace the ones on his feet. Kita comes around the corner with a pair of shoes hanging from his fingers, raising his eyebrows in question.

Atsumu stands, once he has the new boots on, bouncing a little in place to test the fit. He stoops to pick up his bat and gives Kita a thumbs up.

Kita nods and holds up the sneakers he’s picked out for Suna. “Put these in your bag.”

Turning so Kita can unzip his backpack, Atsumu waits, staring off into the racks of clothing that separate the two sides of the store. They’re mostly bare or just covered in empty hangers, but some of them still have athleticwear hanging from them.

“There,” Kita says quietly, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Atsumu nods absently and together they begin making their way back to the front of the aisle. They’re close enough to a couple of the racks that Atsumu stops to look at one, reaching out to rub the material of one of the long, black sleeves between his fingers. It’s breathable material, the kind designed to pull sweat away from the skin and keep you cool.

“Hey,” Kita whispers, making Atsumu jump a little. The clicking from the opposite corner is closer now, coming louder. “What are you doing? Let’s _go_.”

Kita is already moving away from him. Atsumu grabs the shirt, intending to pull it off the hanger, but he tugs too hard and the hanger comes off the rack and clatters to the floor. Ahead of him, Kita freezes. Atsumu bares his teeth in a wince. 

There’s a shrieking croak that echoes off the high ceiling and the unmistakable sound of clickers tumbling toward them. Kita gives him a flat look and Atsumu mouths _sorry_ at him before they both take off running.

They have a clear shot to the doors, the clickers still stumbling along behind them, unable to see them but clearly following the sound of their pounding footsteps. Kita glances over his shoulder at Atsumu. It’s just a split second but it allows a clicker to come barreling out of an aisle and into him, screeching horribly as it grabs him.

“Kita!” Atsumu shouts as they tumble backward into one of the checkout lanes. Atsumu leaps over the remnants of an impulse rack and aims a hard kick at the clicker’s ribs. Kita uses the opportunity to throw his weight behind a shove and pushes the clicker off of him, scrambling to his feet.

Atsumu hauls his bat back over his head and brings it down hard, smashing into the growths covering the clicker’s eyes. It twitches violently as he wrenches it free, nails tearing apart flesh, sending blood spraying over the floor and the legs of his jeans. He brings the bat down again and again, until Kita grabs his elbow and shouts, “Move!” 

The clickers from the back of the store have caught up with them and they’re out of time. Atsumu yanks his bat free and runs. Kita leaps through the broken doorframe and Atsumu follows, barely missing braining himself on a piece of metal hanging from the overhead track. They head for the far side of the parking lot where a cluster of cars sits, most with their doors hanging open and windows broken out. 

They come to a stop, breathing hard and trying to quiet it. Kita yanks him down, keeping a hand on his shoulder as they squat under relative cover. Atsumu presses his forehead to the side of the car, ignoring the burn of the metal against his skin, and just tries to get his heartrate under control. After a minute, Kita takes a look over the roof, and drops down to sit beside him, exhaling hard.

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

Atsumu nods. “You?”

“Yeah.” Kita reaches over and takes hold of the shirt still wrapped around Atsumu’s fist. He lifts his gaze without raising his head. “All that for a fucking shirt?”

Atsumu clears his throat and loosens his grip on the fabric, shaking it out to make sure it doesn’t have clicker brains on it or something; it’s come out of the fray remarkably unscathed. He folds it up and tugs his bag around to shove it inside. 

“’m sorry,” he says. “I was just…”

“Just what?” Kita demands as he gets to his feet and cautiously peers over the roof of the car again. He gestures Atsumu up as well. 

“Ya don’t haveta talk to me like I’m a fuckin’ kid.”

“I’ll talk to you like an adult when you fucking act like one.” 

The barb hits just like it’s meant to, cutting in all the right places that make Atsumu bristle. He’s only known Kita for a little under a year and he already knows all of the sore spots that Atsumu wears like bruises on his skin. He swallows the lump threatening to form in his throat and doesn’t respond. He sets his bat against his shoulder and follows Kita’s lead when he starts moving.

Atsumu doesn’t say a word until they get back to the prison.

\--

Night watch is boring and difficult because he has to do it alone. It’s just the five of them in the prison, right now, but they all figure that sooner or later more survivors will show up at their door. That’s when things will really get complicated, but he can’t deny that he’ll look forward to some company that isn’t his snarky brother or someone who doesn’t particularly like talking for the hell of it.

Atsumu rubs at both of his eyes, groaning into his hands. He slaps his cheeks a couple of times for good measure and leans forward on the guardrail again. The sky lightens gradually, turning from blue to purple to pink and orange. The heatwave seems to have reached its peak, breaking with a light mist that feels as soothing to his sunburned face as much as it serves as a reminder that winter isn’t that far off. The sun crests the horizon and Atsumu hears the familiar clang of shoes on the ladder rungs.

Suna emerges a few seconds later, bleary-eyed and rubbing at his sleep-mussed hair. 

“Morning,” he says around a yawn.

“Hey.” Atsumu stands, joints aching from sitting motionless for so long. He shrugs the blanket off of his shoulders and hands it over to Suna who bundles himself into it immediately. He looks like a sleepy caterpillar. 

“Heard you got Kita pissed at you again.”

Atsumu lets out a huff, barely containing the urge to stomp his foot. “What can I say?” he says, “’s a talent.”

“Shitty talent.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Atsumu pushes past him into the inner tower and heads for the ladder. 

“Hey,” Suna says just before his head drops from view. “Just try not to do anything too stupid. I like you better alive.”

Atsumu doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s exhausted and cold and Suna’s words make the backs of his eyes prickle. He nods and descends the ladder. 

He goes through the motions of washing up. He’s too cold to shower in the frigid water that comes through the pipes, so he scrubs up with a washcloth and brushes his teeth because his mouth feels disgusting. Changing into his sweats, he grabs a blanket off of his bed and drags it into Osamu’s room—he avoids thinking of it in terms of a cell because that’s just too depressing, some days.

Osamu used to be a deep sleeper, but now the slightest of noises wakes him. He comes awake with a sharp inhale, pushing himself up on his elbow, already reaching for the crowbar propped up on the floor by the headboard.

“’s me,” Atsumu whispers, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders as Osamu scoots closer to the wall to make room for him, lifting the covers.

Atsumu climbs into the too-small bed, stretching himself out and then drawing his knees up, resting his head on Osamu’s shoulder. He used to hate the sound of a heartbeat, something about it making his skin crawl, but now it’s everything that means that his brother is still alive. Osamu wiggles his arm free and settles his fingers in Atsumu’s hair. 

They used to do this when they were kids, sharing a room. Atsumu had been prone to sleepwalking and nightmares when he was younger; the sleepwalking stopped as he got older but the nightmares never really did. He’s never grown out of turning to Osamu for comfort, either. It’s something that used to embarrass him to his core when they were in high school, but he doesn’t have the energy to give a shit anymore. He takes comfort wherever he can find it, and as long as Osamu is willing to give it, Atsumu will take it. He curls his fingers in Osamu’s shirt and counts his breaths. 

It’s still early enough that Osamu won’t get up for a while. If Atsumu remembers the days correctly, he doesn’t have any sort of rounds to make until this afternoon. He’ll stay put and let Atsumu sleep until he has to get up.

There’s a rustle of movement outside the cell and Atsumu cracks his eyes open. He knows he’s safe here and that Osamu’s inability to sleep through anything will make sure of that. But still, he looks.

Sakusa stands in the hall, looking in at the two of them. The window is covered by a blanket, keeping it dark and cool enough that it’s comfortable to sleep, still. He doesn’t know how well Sakusa can actually see but he lifts his hand off of Osamu’s chest in a half-hearted attempt at a wave.

Sakusa’s forehead bunches. He doesn’t return the gesture, not that Atsumu expected him to, and walks away without a word. Atsumu’s too tired to think anymore, so he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him over.

\--

Once Atsumu has an idea in his head, it doesn’t go away. He can’t stop thinking about it until he makes it happen or he tries and fails to make it happen. When he tracks down Kita at the western perimeter fence Sakusa is with him. There is a newly-dead clicker lying on the other side, a hole in its forehead, courtesy of the sharpened metal spear in Sakusa’s hand. 

“We’re never gonna have any guests if ya keep killin’ ‘em all,” Atsumu says as he walks up.

Sakusa doesn’t look away from the clicker, but Kita spares him a tired look.

“Just the one?” he asks as he gets closer.

“So far,” Kita says.

Atsumu leans closer to the fence. The hole in the clicker’s forehead is dead center, and has penetrated the thick, fungal growths that obscure its eyes, no easy task on a moving target. He turns and looks at the guard tower, where Sakusa had no doubt spotted it from.

“No target practice today, eh?”

“Didn’t want to waste the bullet.” Sakusa wipes the end of the spear in the grass, a look of disgust clearly visible over the mask he wears. Atsumu feels a little surge of pride at that.

He turns to Kita. “Can I go out?”

“Yeah. You can drag this body to the woods,” Kita says.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Atsumu tips his head back with a groan. Kita is smart and calm and collected at all times, he makes for a good leader, but Atsumu hates having to answer to anyone, let alone someone barely a year older than he is. 

“I jus’ want to run to the village.”

“What do you need there?” Kita asks, blowing out a breath.

Atsumu forces himself to not look at Sakusa, whose gaze he can feel boring into the side of his head. 

“I just wanna get outta here for a minute.”

“Why?”

Atsumu huffs. “’cause I do! Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.” Kita cuts him off before he can really get going, holding up his hand. “You’re not going anywhere alone.”

“I’ll take ‘Samu with me.”

“No.” Atsumu tips his head back to stare up at the sky and beg the gods for the strength to not wrap his hands around Kita’s neck and strangle him right where he stands. “Take Sakusa.”

“ _What?_ ” Sakusa asks at the same time Atsumu says, “Really?”

Kita takes the makeshift spear from Sakusa and points at the clicker’s crumpled body. “Get rid of this first.”

Atsumu grins. “On it.”

“Wait—” Sakusa starts after Kita.

“You watch him,” Kita says, his voice low and serious. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything too incredibly stupid.”

“That’s not possible,” Sakusa grumbles.

Atsumu ignores them. “I’ll take the body. Meet you up front in twenty.”

“Hey!” Kita calls, stopping him in his tracks. “Two hours. Don’t make me come find you.”

Atsumu salutes him and hustles off before he can change his mind.

\--

There’s a thing that he and Osamu do where they never say goodbye to each other. If one of them is leaving the safety of the yard without the other, they make it a point to not say anything resembling a farewell to one another. Usually he doesn’t even try to find Osamu before he goes because he doesn’t want their last memories of each other to be some sappy-ass goodbye. 

Or a goodbye at all.

He gears up and heads to the front gate to meet Sakusa, who doesn’t look all that happy to be waiting for him. Suna lets them out, hauling the gate shut behind them and locking it. 

Being on the other side of the fence is both exhilarating and anxiety-inducing. Clickers are a known danger, something to fear but easy to distract and kill when there are only a few of them. Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of them anymore, but it’s something he can handle. People, on the other hand, other survivors are the thing that he fears more than anything else.

They haven’t encountered another group of living people in a month, maybe longer. But Atsumu still feels the creeping fear of their position at the prison being discovered by a group bigger than their own. Any time they leave the yard, they make themselves vulnerable to discovery.

Still, they stick to the road, pavement cracked and overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, because it’s still safer than traipsing through the woods. 

Overhead birds are chirping, sunlight filtering through the leaves above. It’s a nice day, hot but no longer so oppressively humid that Atsumu feels like he can’t breathe. Beside him Sakusa pulls his mask down enough to wipe the sweat from his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Atsumu watches him flex his hand, like he wants to tuck it into his pocket, but he doesn’t. One hand holds the spear and his other swings at his side as they walk. Sakusa hates close combat but he’s damn good at it, when he needs to be.

“Kita wants us to check the solar panels on that one house.” 

Atsumu glances at him. “Sure thing.”

They walk on in silence for a while longer, nothing but their footsteps on the broken concrete and the wind rustling the leaves making sound between them. 

“Why are we doing this?” Sakusa asks.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Omi-kun? Off, alone together in the wild, what could be better?”

The look Sakusa gives him is one of sheer exasperation; Atsumu swallows and looks away. The tops of the squat, traditional homes come into view as the road slopes down to meet them. 

“I jus’ wanted ta get out fer a bit.” He swings his bat over his shoulders in a practiced move that makes sure that none of the imbedded nails stick him. He hooks his fingers around a couple of them, looking at Sakusa again. “I’ll go crazy if I have’ta stay in there all the time.”

“You’re already crazy,” Sakusa says, his voice muffled by the mask, but just as dry as ever.

“You love it.” 

Sakusa glances at him, eyebrow raised behind the fringe of his hair, and Atsumu grins back.

The village is old and judging by the content of the homes, the residents were mostly elderly. They came through this place on their way to the prison and they’ve been back a multitude of times for supplies, stripping away blankets, clothes, cooking utensils, non-perishable foods, and anything else they might need. They’ve cleared every house multiple times and never once found a clicker or a living person. Three of the homes had deceased bodies inside, but they had either died of old age or some other complication, because there were no fungal growths to be found.

Sadly, it hadn’t been the first grave Atsumu had dug, and he doesn’t let himself consider if it’ll be the last. They pass the stone markers they put into place to mark the unknown graves. Sakusa bows his head briefly but Atsumu doesn’t look at all. 

They head for the house that has the solar roofing panels first, because it’s as good a place to start as any. There’s no sign that anyone has been here since the last time they set foot inside. Atsumu can’t remember when that was; weeks ago? A month? Not that it matters much.

Sakusa opens the door wide, keeping his foot braced against it so that it can’t close on them, and Atsumu stands at the ready, bat up, feet planted firmly in a wide stance. They wait. There is no sound from inside, no clicking or shuffling. Atsumu steps in first and Sakusa is right behind him, facing the opposite direction so that their backs are turned toward one another.

A house this small is easy to clear. There is no upstairs, no basement, and only a handful of rooms. The doors are all standing open and there are no places for living people left to hide; they made sure of that when their group swept through here the first handful of times.

“Clear,” Atsumu says. Sakusa glances at him and nods. 

“I’ll head up to the roof.”

“I’ll meetcha in a minute.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “’m gonna look around real quick.”

Sakusa holds his gaze for a breath before he heads down the hall. Atsumu hears the back door open, feels the pressure shift as the breeze flows in. He waits a moment to make sure that Sakusa isn’t coming back in before he starts his search. He knows exactly what he needs he just isn’t sure where to find it. 

The bedroom is fruitless. They’ve been through the dresser and the closet before, under the bed and rummaged in the nightstand. He knows they’ve taken most everything that could be useful, but he’s certain that most, if not all of these homes will have what he needs. 

And he’s right. In the hall closet he finds a sewing kit, complete with a pair of fabric scissors and tailors chalk. He zips it up inside of his bag before sliding the door shut again. 

Overhead, Sakusa’s footfalls can be heard on the roof. Atsumu steps outside into the bright afternoon light and wishes he’d remembered his sunglasses. He holds his hand over his eyes and squints up at the roof. Sakusa is squatting beside one of the solar panels, looking confused and pissed off. 

“Hey,” he calls. “How’d you get up there?” 

Sakusa points to the corner of the house where a stone garden lantern is situated. It sits about two feet off the ground and has a relatively flat top. Atsumu puts one foot on it, pushing to test it with his weight, but it doesn’t move. He hops up, setting his other foot against the outer wall of the house and grabs the gutter with both hands. 

“Omi-kun, help me up.”

“I got up here on my own. Figure it out.”

“Well, I’m not a fuckin’ giant. Help me.”

He holds out his hand and Sakusa gives him a flat look. “No.”

“Omi-kun, come on,” Atsumu whines, flexing his fingers in the air.

Sakusa stands to look down at him but whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue. Suddenly, Sakusa reaches out and grabs his hand, yanking him up so quickly that Atsumu’s shoulder pops. Atsumu barely has the warning to push off from the lantern to give himself the leverage to get his knee up on the roof tiles. Something grabs at his foot and Atsumu’s heart slams into his throat, his fingers digging hard into Sakusa’s wrist.

“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering up to his knees. Sakusa pulls him to his feet, holding still in Atsumu’s grip until he manages to pry his fingers open and let go. The clicker is an old one, judging by the level of growth on it, totally blind as it snarls and claws up at the roof. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didja hear it? It wasn’t even clickin’.”

“No.” Sakusa bites out. Atsumu can see the strain at the corners of his eyes, the way his throat tightens when he swallows; he hates close combat. “We have to kill it or it’ll just follow us back.”

Atsumu’s hand flexes. He looks around. “Shit,” he mutters, “I dropped my bat.”

Sakusa sighs, returning to the solar panel to pick up his spear. “Move.”

“I got it,” Atsumu says, reaching out to take hold of it. Sakusa doesn’t let go. “I’ll get it.”

“Let go.”

“I got it, Omi, just—”

“Let _go_.” 

Sakusa tugs, pulling the spear out of his grip. He must not expect Atsumu to let go so easily because he stumbles backward, tripping on the corner of the solar panel. Atsumu tries to grab him, but he tumbles right off of the roof, landing on the cement garden path below. The clicker screeches.

“Kiyoomi!” Atsumu shouts. He doesn’t think, he just leaps off the roof after him, landing on top of the clicker as it lunges for Sakusa.

They hit the ground hard, knocking the air from Atsumu as they roll, crashing into Sakusa, who lets out a sharp cry. Atsumu rears back and punches the clicker in the face, sending its head flying back, spores puffing out from the growths he knocks loose. Atsumu is able to get a foot under it and kicks as hard as he can, shoving the clicker back and holding his breath as he grabs the spear from the ground and rams it into an exposed eye socket. The clicker lets out one final, wet rattle before slumping motionless to the ground. 

Sakusa has gotten to his knees, his face tight with pain as he cradles his right arm against his chest. Atsumu holds out his hand, intent on helping him up, and Sakusa grasps his forearm, pushing against it to get to his feet. 

“Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Sakusa rasps.

“Don’t move.” Atsumu jogs over to where he dropped his bat and snatches it up off the ground. “C’mon.” 

They don’t make it ten steps before another clicker stumbles into view, mouth open and dripping, arms outstretched. 

“Fuck,” Sakusa says, but Atsumu brings his bat down on its head, caving it in with one solid blow.

“Let’s go!” he says, wrenching his bat free. 

Atsumu reaches toward Sakusa but doesn’t actually touch him. They run, Atsumu with both of their weapons in hand, Sakusa still holding his arm to his chest. He grunts in pain, every so often, his steps jostling his injury.

“Arm?” Atsumu asks, slowing as they reach the top of the hill. He pauses to look back but there are no other clickers in sight.

Sakusa slows to a jog beside him. “Wrist,” he bites out. He doesn’t offer anything more and Atsumu doesn’t ask. Kita is going to rip him a new asshole.

\--

Suna is the one that meets them at the front gate. He takes one look at Sakusa’s pale, sweaty face and shaking arm and sighs. “Come on,” he says, leading the way to the infirmary. 

They found Suna before they met Sakusa, before Kita. Maybe a month after the initial outbreak. He and Osamu had long since left the city and moved into more rural areas. Information about the origin and transfer of the infection was still scarce, not really well known at that point, but bites and scratches were the most obvious cause. 

Osamu had a nasty, deep cut on his calf, sustained in an ill-fated attempt at climbing a fence. They’d followed a barricade line that ended in an exclusion zone. It wasn’t a military operation, that much was obvious because everyone was still alive. One by one the zones were being razed to the ground and it was only a matter of time before this one joined the others, being reduced to a pile of ash and rubble. 

Osamu had been sweat-soaked and shaking with pain by the time they’d talked their way into the field hospital, leaning more on Atsumu for balance than walking on his own. 

Suna was the doctor that had seen them. He’d still been working on his residency, not fully licensed to practice internal medicine yet, but had been dispatched by the government when the situation turned dire. He’d been the one to stitch Osamu’s wound shut, without the help of anesthetics, while Atsumu held his leg down. 

Knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the military came down on this field hospital, like all of the others, they’d left not long after Osamu became coherent again.

“Containment means neutralizing, at this point. They’re wipin’ the exclusion zones out and everyone in 'em,” Atsumu had told him as he got Osamu to his feet. “You’re not safe, here. They’ll kill you too.”

When they left, Suna came with them. 

Now, he carefully stretches Sakusa’s arm out on the examination table in the infirmary. The afternoon light is still bright enough that he’s able to see without the use of a lantern or flashlight. Sakusa’s still breathing hard, holding onto his elbow to keep his arm steady. 

“It’s definitely broken,” Suna says, prodding gently at the fragile bones in Sakusa’s wrist. He sucks in a pained breath. “Yeah. Definitely.” He turns away from the table to open up one of the cabinets. “I can’t set it properly without opening your arm up and I don’t feel comfortable doing that. The risk of infection is far greater than the potential benefit.”

“So whadda we do?” Atsumu asks. 

Sakusa glances up at him for a moment before he pulls his mask down to his chin. “I need water.” 

Atsumu nods, turning to leave, but Kita is standing in the doorway. The look he shoots Atsumu is sharp enough to cut steel. He has the metal water bottle Sakusa uses in his hand, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Atsumu as he approaches.

Suna’s eyes flick up to Kita for a moment before he goes back to splinting Sakusa’s arm. “We’re just going to keep it immobile until I can figure out how to cast it. It’s important that you don’t move it at all or it might not heal right.” Sakusa nods.

Kita hands him his water bottle and looks at Atsumu over the wavy mess of Sakusa’s hair.

“Why is it that every time you leave—"

“I fell,” Sakusa interrupts before taking a drink. “It was my fault.”

The look Kita gives him says that he doesn’t totally buy it, but Sakusa wouldn’t lie for him and they both know it. Kita sighs. “You’re on tower duty until that heals, Sakusa.”

“He can’t climb the ladder, like that.”

“Then you’re on tower duty,” Kita says, turning to leave. “I can’t deal with this, right now.”

Suna, to his credit, says nothing, focusing on splinting Sakusa’s wrist in silence. 

Atsumu is getting pretty sick of feeling like a scolded child. Especially when he didn’t even do anything, this time. He drags a chair over and sits down beside Sakusa, close enough that his knee brushes Sakusa’s thigh. He doesn’t scoot back and Sakusa doesn’t acknowledge it; he’s too busy trying to breathe. Atsumu doesn’t look away from him, not even when Sakusa’s pained gaze meets his. Atsumu wants to reach for him but he keeps his hands folded tightly together in his lap. 

If he couldn’t see it for himself, he would have thought he was imagining it when Sakusa’s foot wedges itself between his own. 

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and takes hold of the hem of Sakusa’s shirt.

“This will hurt,” Suna says right before he tightens the brace, not giving Sakusa time to tense up. 

Sakusa drops his head, chin to his chest, and blows out a shaky, pain-filled breath. His other hand drops suddenly and grips Atsumu’s. He squeezes hard and Atsumu squeezes back. Sakusa holds on until Suna lets go of his arm to test the tightness of the splint, prodding gently along the edges where it sits on Sakusa’s palm.

Atsumu presses the tips of his fingers against Sakusa’s thigh, watching his sweaty, pale face intently. He thinks Sakusa nods at him, but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t know what that would mean, anyway.

\--

Atsumu goes from the infirmary to the tower, because Osamu is on watch duty. He doesn’t say anything but Osamu can tell right away that something is wrong. Atsumu sits down close to him and Osamu kicks at his foot once it’s dangling over the side of the catwalk.

“What’s goin’ on?”

The whole story comes out in one miserable, run-on sentence. He puts his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands when he gets to the part about Sakusa breaking his wrist. Osamu listens, for once keeping his big mouth shut.

He doesn’t really say much when Atsumu finally falls silent. There isn’t anything to say anyway. Nothing would make him feel better about being partially responsible for Sakusa breaking his wrist.

Atsumu’s shift begins when Osamu’s ends. His brother has already been up here for hours in the afternoon sun, his cheeks pink and the bridge of his nose burned all over again. He stands and stretches. 

“You want me to stay with you?”

Atsumu shakes his head, squinting up at him. “Nah, go ‘head.”

“I’ll bring you back some water,” Osamu says, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder. 

There are footsteps on the ladder and Atsumu bumps his head against the guardrail. He’s not in the mood for a lecture, right now and he just knows it’s Kita, coming to take a bite out of him again. He blows out a breath and Osamu ruffles his hair before stepping away from him. The two of them exchange words in the guard room before Osamu descends the ladder, leaving Atsumu alone with Kita.

He doesn’t bother looking up when Kita steps up beside him.

“Mind if I sit?” 

Atsumu shrugs. “Knock yerself out.”

Kita lowers himself down beside him, not as close as Osamu was, but still within reach; his knees crack and he groans, “Gettin’ old,” mostly to himself. Atsumu doesn’t respond; he’s just waiting for Kita to dig in. Eventually, Kita clears his throat and Atsumu closes his eyes. “Did you know I had a sister?” he asks.

Atsumu looks at him, taken off guard. “No?” he says, the word coming out as a question.

Kita nods, glancing at him before looking out at the field beyond the yard again. “She was twelve when it happened. I was at university and I came home to find her. Our parents died, right away, and she was alone.” Atsumu slowly sits upright. He’s never heard Kita talk about his life before the outbreak. “I only had her with me for a week when we were attacked by a group of survivors. They took everything we had and left us in the woods.”

Atsumu feels like he should be saying something but he has no idea what; he doesn’t want to hear any of it. It’s making his chest feel heavy with something akin to panic, however, because he knows where this is going. It’s where all of their stories went, at some point.

“I took her to the city. I should have made her stay behind but I was afraid of what would happen if I couldn’t keep my eye on her.” He looks down at his hands for a moment and then to the perimeter again. “And we were overrun by clickers. She got bit.” He shakes his head. “She was so small, it didn’t take long… hours, three, maybe four. I should have left her behind.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Atsumu asks, his voice tight in his throat.

Kita pulls his knee up and turns to face Atsumu fully. “Because you’re brash and impulsive and every time you leave, I worry that you’re gonna get yourself killed.” Atsumu’s eyes prickle uncomfortably and he looks away. “I want you to understand why I ride you so hard about it and why I need you to do better.”

Atsumu rubs at his nose until it hurts. Kita’s hand settles between his shoulder blades, big and warm, rubbing for a moment before falling away again.

“We’ve all got dead people. I don’t want you to be another one of mine.”

“Fuck,” Atsumu says wetly, the word coming out almost like a laugh. He rubs at his eyes with his fingertips. “’m not gonna die, Kita.”

“I really hope not, Atsumu.” His voice is gentler than it has been lately, when it’s been directed at Atsumu. “Please tone down the bullshit, okay?”

Atsumu nods, biting at his lips, not trusting his voice to hold steady. Kita takes hold of his head, pulling him over and pressing a kiss to his temple. Neither one of them says a word. Kita stays a while, pretending that he doesn’t hear Atsumu’s occasional sniffing; he leaves when Osamu returns with his promised water.

Atsumu would be lying if he said he didn’t actually feel a little bit better.

\--

That night, Atsumu grits his teeth and takes an ice-cold shower. If they can ever get those solar panels from the village working here, he thinks he’ll gladly burn his skin right off in the hottest shower he can manage. He’s absolutely frozen by the time he gets out, even though he manages to scrub himself down and wash his hair in about a minute and a half, flat.

Kita is on night watch, Osamu is asleep, and Suna is reading in his room with a solar powered camping lantern. He looks up when Atsumu trudges by, calling out a quiet, “Night, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu pauses by his bed, goosebumps crawling over his legs and arms. He debates climbing in or if he wants to go get in bed with Osamu again. He should be able to sleep alone. He shouldn’t need to go to his brother for comfort every other night like a toddler. And he probably wouldn’t, if they weren’t living in an abandoned prison in an apocalyptic nightmare world. _Fuck it._ He grabs his blanket and walks back out of his room.

He’s startled by Sakusa standing in the hallway. 

“Fuck, Omi,” he gasps, trying to keep his voice down. He tries to swallow his racing heart back to where it belongs. 

Sakusa says nothing. He’s holding a flashlight in one hand, the other held up against his stomach, like he’s afraid of bumping it. Atsumu certainly would be. 

“You goin’ ta bed?” he asks, even though it seems pretty obvious.

Sakusa aims the beam of the flashlight into his room, tipping his head toward the doorway. Atsumu hopes he isn’t misreading things when he crosses the hall and enters Sakusa’s cell. He stands out of the way, allowing Sakusa to pass by. He has a solar powered lantern beside his bed that he trades out for his flashlight, turning it off to conserve the battery.

“Sit,” he says, glancing toward the end of the bed while he sets the lantern on the small stool beside his headboard.

Atsumu’s heart starts racing all over again. He sits gingerly at the foot of Sakusa’s bed, noting how neatly it’s been made, blankets pulled tight across the mattress. Atsumu almost feels bad for wrinkling them when he sits. 

Sakusa rests his splinted wrist in his lap. “Thank you,” he says at length. “For… earlier.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows creep up his forehead and his cheeks heat rapidly. He’s grateful for the darkness of the room because he thinks he might burst into flames if Sakusa were to comment on it. 

“Yer welcome,” he says quietly. Then, “’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“I shoulda gone alone.”

“You’re not going out alone.” His voice is hard and quiet and it makes Atsumu’s forearms prickle with goosebumps.

“You got hurt ‘cause’a me.”

“I fell off a roof,” Sakusa says flatly.

Atsumu shrugs, looking down at his hands; he can’t see his nails very well but he picks at the cuticle on his thumb anyway. “Still.”

“Still nothing. It was my fault. If Kita gives you shit—”

“No, he… he didn’t.”

Sakusa nods. Neither of them says anything for a moment and Atsumu feels the need to fill the space between them with words, not because he doesn’t know how to be silent with Sakusa, but because he doesn’t _want_ to be. A moment later he rips his cuticle too far down and it stings like a bitch; he sticks his thumb in his mouth. Sakusa is still watching him, his expression too difficult to parse in the dark. He inhales like he wants to say something and then pauses and remains silent.

“I should… get to bed,” Atsumu finally says. Sakusa nods again and Atsumu rises, taking his blanket with him. 

“Tell me you at least got what you were looking for,” Sakusa says when Atsumu reaches the door.

Atsumu had completely forgotten about the sewing kit still stashed in his backpack, tossed aside in his room when he’d left the infirmary. The entire reason for their trip into the village, the only reason Sakusa has a splint on his broken wrist, right now. 

He swallows and nods. “Yeah. I did. Thank you.”

Sakusa watches him for a moment, his dark eyes completely unreadable. “Goodnight, Atsumu,” he finally says.

“G’night, Omi.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

Atsumu drags his blanket back to his own room and stands in the doorway for a moment, holding an intense, internal debate. Berating himself. He’s twenty-three years old, he shouldn’t need to crawl into bed with his brother because he doesn’t want to be alone. Gritting his teeth, he bangs his forehead against the doorframe a couple of times. 

The sheets are cold and Atsumu is irrationally angry with himself for how much he wants to get up and go to Osamu. He’s uncomfortable and stiff and absolutely fucking exhausted and no closer to falling asleep when a sound at his door has him lifting his head off the pillow.

“Shove over,” Osamu whispers, flapping a hand at him in the dark.

Atsumu backs up against the wall, toes curling at the rush of cold air as Osamu lifts the covers and climbs in with him.

“Come ‘ere,” he says tiredly, lifting his arm and allowing Atsumu to curl in against him. He’s on the side opposite Osamu’s heart but he can still hear it when he presses his ear to his chest. 

It’s comforting and familiar and he immediately begins to relax, the tension in his body unraveling. He closes his eyes and settles in; he doesn’t stop to think before he says, “Love you, ‘Samu.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes. “Love you too, loser. Now, go to sleep.”

Atsumu doesn’t have any trouble following the order.

\--

While Sakusa is out of commission, the rest of them have to double down on tower duty. Kita doesn’t actually follow through and make him entirely responsible for Sakusa’s shifts, dividing it up evenly among the four of them. For once, though, Atsumu doesn’t actually mind. The tower is the most isolated location on the prison grounds and it’s the only place where he doesn’t worry that someone will sneak up on him or see what he’s doing.

Atsumu hasn’t sewn a single stitch in his entire life. He’s never threaded a needle or cut up fabric, or done anything resembling sewing. So he spends less time than he should actually watching the perimeter and more time cutting up old prison jumpsuits and teaches himself how to sew.

It’s slow going. Atsumu is not an immediate talent and it’s distressing, but he’s glad that he decided to practice first, before going right for the material he actually wants to use. He pokes himself so many times that he loses count, his chalk rolls off the catwalk and disappears into the grass below, and one of his actually decent attempts gets caught up in a sudden burst of wind and gets carried over the fence.

By the end of the first week, he’s so frustrated that he wants to just scrap the whole idea. If it wasn’t for Suna actually catching him in the act, he probably would have.

There’s nothing for it but to tell Suna the truth about what he’s attempting to do, even if his face feels so hot that he thinks his skin might melt right off. Suna, however, just takes the ball of fabric from him and smooths it out on his thighs.

“Needle,” he says, holding his hand out. Atsumu gives it to him without a word. “A backstitch would be better than whatever this is.” Using the scissors, he rips the seam Atsumu had spent the last hour working on and scoots closer.

“Is that a doctor thing?”

Suna smiles a little. “It’s a sewing thing. My Gran taught me.” Atsumu nods because he doesn’t know what to say. “You got another needle?” 

“Yeah.”

“All right,” he says, “watch me first, then you do it.”

Of all the skills Atsumu has picked up since the world ended, this is probably the most relaxing. And frustrating. But his next attempt goes better than the last; by the end of the second week, he feels confident enough to cut up the athletic shirt he’d taken from the sporting goods store for the final product. If Suna checks his progress, then no one needs to know. No one will ever know, if Atsumu can help it.

Especially not Osamu.

\--

All of the extra time Atsumu spends in the guard tower is good for a few things. He has a lot of time to work on his sewing project in private, he can watch Sakusa doing perimeter checks on foot without Osamu calling him a creep, and he gets incredibly familiar with the layout of the grounds. He thinks he could walk them blindfolded, or more realistically, in the pitch black dark of night. He hopes it doesn’t, but it may actually come in handy, some day.

Overlooking the top of the prison, he notices a maintenance door. If he’d ever thought about it, logic would dictate that there’s obviously some way to get up onto the roof. The air conditioning units are there as well as the exhaust fans, but they’ve never had a reason to go looking for a way up. He remembers seeing a door marked _maintenance_ in one of the unused cellblocks and he wonders if that’s where he needs to look.

Atsumu wants to get onto the roof, either for curiosity’s sake or out of sheer boredom. Once the idea is in his head, he can’t seem to let it go. That isn’t the surprising part, what is surprising is that when he grabs a flashlight and heads off into the darkened corridors, is that Sakusa comes with him.

“You worried about me, Omi-kun?” he asks, voice echoing around the empty block. 

It’s a little eerie, totally empty and completely dark, after they’d covered all the windows to help regulate the temperature in the building. There’s an instinctual tension that is difficult to ignore that tells him that clickers could be anywhere in here, despite the fact that they cleared it out, months ago.

“No. Just coming to exact my revenge by pushing you off the roof.”

Atsumu’s laugh is more of a snort than anything. The door is in an empty office at the end of the hall; it’s locked, of course, but Atsumu has the keyring he swiped from Kita’s room. It takes a few tries to find the right one, but eventually the lock clicks and the handle gives. 

“I didn’t push you. In fact, I leapt off to certain doom to save you.”

“I think ‘certain doom’ implies death.”

They enter a stairwell that only leads up. Atsumu left his bat in his room but he has his hunting knife in hand because instincts are hard to kill. Sakusa holds the flashlight, guiding them upward, but Atsumu knows he has his gun on him, too. 

The prison is only two stories, a relatively small building, all things considered. They don’t have far to climb before Atsumu shuffles through the keys in order to unlock the door labeled _roof access_. The hinges squeak but the door opens easily. 

Stepping out onto the roof is almost as good as leaving the grounds entirely. There’s more room to move around than on the guard tower catwalk, and the setting sun still casts enough light that they can see. The air is warm still and a cool breeze blows almost continually, ruffling their hair as they make their way to one side. The roof is framed by a a chest-high ledge and Atsumu leans his elbows on it and closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

Sakusa is right, the air quality is better the higher up you go. 

Sakusa steps up beside him, looking around, his hair blown back from his forehead, leaving his face bare, the moles over his eyebrow exposed. He’s so fucking pretty that it makes Atsumu’s chest hurt to look for long, so he doesn’t. His fingers dangle in the air as he leans over, making himself comfortable.

In quiet moments, like these, it’s hard to believe that the outside world has gotten as bad as it has. Especially when they live in relative safety, regardless.

After a moment, Sakusa reaches up and removes his mask, flattening it before tucking it into his back pocket. The shirt he’s wearing is white, long-sleeved with a wide, open neck, rolled up around his splint, allowing him to lean against the ledge without it touching his skin.

“’s nice,” Atsumu says, closing his eyes again and tipping his face up into the breeze.

Sakusa is quiet for so long that Atsumu doesn’t think he’s going to respond. “It is,” he says, eventually.

When Atsumu opens his eyes, Sakusa is looking at him. He doesn’t look away like Atsumu probably would, if he’d been the one caught staring. Heat starts to prickle on the back of his neck and it’s not from the setting sun. He drops his gaze, wiggling his fingers in the breeze.

“Omi,” Atsumu forces himself to say.

“Hmm?”

He swallows. “I uhh… I’ve got something for ya and if you make fun of me, I’m gonna break yer other wrist.”

Sakusa blinks at him and Atsumu almost apologizes but then Sakusa laughs, a real, genuine laugh, quiet but no less sincere. He’s never heard Sakusa laugh before and it makes his heart flutter alarmingly in his chest. He did that. He made Sakusa laugh and he is instantly addicted to the sound. 

Atsumu was right, he does have dimples.

“Okay,” Sakusa says, his smile is mostly gone but his face is relaxed, at ease. “What am I risking my life for, now?”

Atsumu huffs. “Well now I dunno if ya deserve it.”

Sakusa turns to face him, elbow on the ledge and eyebrow arched. “Remember what I said about revenge.”

Is this—this is flirting. Right? Atsumu is almost afraid to hope but he’s always had a fool’s share of courage, according to everyone around him. He takes the mask he’s been sewing from the fabric of the breathable, athletic shirt and unfolds it, holding it out.

Sakusa looks down at his hands, watching, not reaching for it, even when Atsumu holds it out for him to take. 

“I made it.” It should be obvious by the white, pointy-toothed grin he’d painstakingly painted on when Suna suggested he not sew anything additional to it. The ties he’d added are red, contrasting nicely with the black fabric. He didn’t try it on himself because he knows how Sakusa is about other people touching him and his things, but he’d held it up in the bathroom mirror and he thinks it looks pretty badass.

Sakusa doesn’t make a move to take it or lift his eyes to look at him, and after a moment, Atsumu’s hands begin to shake a little.

“If ya don’t put me outta my misery, here in a second, I’m gonna throw myself off the roof for ya.”

A huff of breath leaves Sakusa, and he still doesn’t look up, but he does reach out with his left hand and takes the mask from Atsumu. Fingertips brush his palm and Atsumu curls his fingers inward, clenching his fist as it falls back to his side.

“Why did you do this?” Sakusa asks.

“’cause you’ll run outta masks again, eventually.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and leans back against the ledge. “I figure you can reuse this one. Just gotta wash it.”

“No, I mean _why?_ ”

Atsumu knows the difference between the questions but he still isn’t sure how to answer. Instead, he shrugs and looks down at his feet. “I don’t know,” he mutters.

“Not good enough,” Sakusa tells him, meeting his gaze. There’s something hard in his eyes and it makes Atsumu want to clam up and not say another word.

He huffs. “Why else would someone go through the trouble to make somethin’ for ya?” Sakusa continues to stare at him. “I like you,” Atsumu finally says, his voice subdued. “You know that.”

“You like me,” Sakusa repeats, his voice just as quiet, if not more so.

“Yeah.”

Sakusa looks at the mask again, closing his fist around it. “Are you sure about that?”

“What?”

“Are you sure it’s me? Are you sure it’s not the fact that there are four other people here, besides you, and one of them is your brother?”

The accusation hits like a punch to the gut. Atsumu can feel his stomach sinking at the same time his expression begins to harden. He wants to snatch the mask out of Sakusa’s hands and tear it in two. His teeth clench and the backs of his eyes begin to prickle. The insult stings, heating his cheeks with embarrassment.

“Am I sure? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Atsumu sneers, bristling defensively. “Fuck you, Kiyoomi.”

He pushes off the wall without another word and stalks back toward the roof access door, intent on just going back to his room and stewing until dinner. Or finding Osamu and complaining. Or just getting as far away from Sakusa as humanly possible.

“Atsumu.” He keeps walking. “Atsumu!”

“What?” he snaps as he wheels around.

Sakusa is halfway across the roof, headed for the opposite side. He sets both hands on the ledge, looking out toward the field. 

“Sakusa?”

Atsumu crosses the distance between them again and steps up beside Sakusa, following his line of sight. There’s something moving through the grass toward the fence. Multiple somethings.

“Clickers?” Atsumu asks, his voice subdued. It’s easy to switch, to turn off the part of his brain that is angry with Sakusa, and focus on what they need to do to defend themselves.

“Looks like.”

Atsumu raps his knuckles against the ledge. “I’ll get Kita,” he says, turning away from the wall and heading for the door again.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa calls after him.

“Not now.” Atsumu doesn’t know if his voice carries enough to be heard but they have more pressing matters at the moment. Sakusa doesn’t respond and Atsumu keeps moving. 

\--

Avoiding someone you don’t want to talk to is remarkably difficult when the two of you inhabit the same enclosed space as one another, eat your meals together, and regularly have to trade out information and reports. Atsumu still does a decent job of not being alone with Sakusa, for a couple of days. He manages to always have one of the others present whenever they have to interact; although he tries to avoid having that person be Osamu, who is altogether unsympathetic to his situation.

He itches for something to do, some way to be productive. They’ve been secure in their position at the prison for months, now. After spending half a year on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at every little noise, losing every notion of security he’s ever had, and worrying about losing his brother… sitting around for hours at a time feels almost wrong, somehow. 

They are well and truly on their own. He knows it, they all do. Everyone that Atsumu can trust is in this prison with him. They’re all he has and he is something to them, as well.

Problem is, he wants to be even more to Sakusa.

Atsumu can’t tell if it’s entirely fruitless or not. It doesn’t feel like it is. Sakusa’s hard edges have softened, toward them all, and maybe that’s the problem. He trusts Atsumu to watch his back, he lets him close in their down time, he doesn’t flinch away from Atsumu’s touch like it burns, anymore. Maybe he resents Atsumu for it, maybe he resents all of them. They all know what it’s like to experience gut-wrenching loss and developing attachments is a dangerous game to play.

Sakusa can’t be blamed for not wanting something new to lose. But still, he hasn’t made any attempt to give back the mask Atsumu made him, and that feels like _something_.

And if it’s not, then it’s only a matter of time before they’re forced to let the tension go, because there is no room for dissent among their group. The only way they’re going to continue to survive is to do it together, and Atsumu isn’t dumb enough to not realize that.

He’ll get over it, if Sakusa turns him down. Eventually.

A week to the day that they had argued on the roof, Atsumu is on tower duty when Sakusa finds him there alone.

The familiar sound of boots on ladder rungs reaches him well before he knows who’s coming. In retrospect, the slow, uneven pace should have tipped him off, because Sakusa can still only use one hand to climb.

When he sees Sakusa’s mass of wavy hair over the top of the hatch, he scrambles over to help him. 

“What the fuck are ya doin’?” 

Sakusa only grunts as Atsumu takes hold of his arm and helps him the rest of the way up. He doesn’t pull out of Atsumu’s hold, even as he gets his feet under him. Atsumu lets go before Sakusa makes him, stepping back and giving him a cursory glance, up and down. 

The mask Atsumu made sits under his chin, red bands still stretched around his ears. The back of Atsumu’s neck prickles hotly as he steps back out onto the catwalk, leaning against the railing. It’s early enough that it’s still chilly out, dew glistening along the grating of catwalk and on the grass below; the sun has just crested the horizon. He didn’t expect anyone to be up so soon, let alone coming to see him. He didn’t even notice Sakusa’s approach. It’s possible that Atsumu is not the best lookout but he’s certainly not going to volunteer that information.

Sakusa drapes the towel he keeps in the tower over the damp railing and sets his splinted arm against it.

As in every situation, Atsumu has the urge to speak first. He can’t stand awkward silences and the bubble of unease drives him to want to fill in the gaps. Biting down on his bottom lip, he holds himself back because this time he doesn’t want to shoot his mouth off and potentially make things worse.

After a couple of minutes of nerve-grating silence, Sakusa sighs, looking over at him. “I’m sorry if what I said offended you.”

Atsumu laughs but it’s weak, nothing behind it. “That’s a shitty apology, Omi-Omi.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“Well, I hate you insinuatin’ that I don’t know what I want. Or who I want.” He flicks at a bead of moisture that pools in a rusted indent on the railing. “I don’t think yer press box hot.”

Sakusa raises a brow at him. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That yer only attractive due to a lack of options.” Sakusa makes a sound of understanding, more of a grunt than anything else. “’s that all you got to say?”

“No.” 

“Wow me, then, Omi-Omi.”

“You infuriate me.” Atsumu snorts and rubs at his face. “You’re loud, and overly tactile, and everything you do ratchets up my anxiety.”

“’s like talkin’ to Kita.”

“And I still want to be near you.”

Atsumu blinks at him, slowly standing upright as Sakusa roots him to the spot with his gaze. “Oh,” Atsumu says.

Sakusa exhales harshly, his breath visible for a moment in the air. 

“I didn’t do anything like this before the outbreak and I certainly don’t know how to do it now. Or if we even should.” He gestures outward with his good hand. “Look where we are, Atsumu.”

“We’re safe.”

“For now,” Sakusa concedes. “But I’m not good with people.”

Atsumu shrugs one of his shoulders, taking a half-step closer but not touching him. He lowers his voice. “You don’t gotta be good with ‘people’, ya just gotta be good with me.”

“I don’t know if I can be.” 

“Ya already are.” He drops his gaze and runs his fingers through his hair, tucking it back behind his ear; he really needs to have Osamu cut it for him.

He’s surprised into looking up again by a single finger touching the back of his hand. 

“I don’t think you have the patience,” Sakusa says without malice, only statement of fact.

Atsumu swallows. “I learned how to sew for ya, Omi.”

Sakusa tilts his head to the side, considering Atsumu carefully, eyes moving over his face. Atsumu holds still and lets him look, wanting him to find whatever he needs, hoping that he does. Fingertips trace the thin skin of his wrist and down over his palm. Atsumu spreads his fingers and Sakusa’s slide between them before falling away.

Instead of being deterred, Atsumu feels emboldened. 

“Can I—” he starts, cutting himself off to bite his lip. Sakusa doesn’t say anything, doesn’t lean back, even as Atsumu slowly lifts his hands and pulls the fabric of the mask he’d made up over Sakusa’s mouth and nose. 

Sakusa doesn’t move when Atsumu leans up onto his toes and presses his mouth to Sakusa’s through the mask.

There’s a sharp inhale and fingers lightly touch his own again. Atsumu wishes that he could taste Sakusa’s mouth, feel his lips, the press of their teeth, and the brush of their tongues, but the flush dusting Sakusa’s cheekbones, over the mask, is almost as good. Atsumu feels like he just got away with something he shouldn’t have but Sakusa doesn’t look like he minds.

“I like ya the way ya are, Omi.” He shrugs. “I don’t really need more. Hell, I don’t even have the energy to get it up, most’a the time, anyway.”

Sakusa drops his head, shaking it. “You’re an idiot.” He sounds serious when he says it, drawing his hand away from Atsumu’s, and for a moment he thinks he’s fucked it all up. Sakusa pinches the fabric of his mask, pulling it down below his chin and leans down to kiss Atsumu directly on the mouth.

It’s close-mouthed and chaste and Sakusa isn’t touching him anywhere else, but it’s the best fucking kiss Atsumu has ever had in his life. He leans into the pressure of Sakusa’s lips against his own until Sakusa pulls back, looking him in the eye.

“It might never be more than that. No matter how patient you are.”

Atsumu has to clear his throat before he can speak. He almost feels nauseous from the churning of his insides, the thrill of Sakusa actually kissing him for real.

“Okay,” he says, his voice raspier than he’d like from just one kiss.

Sakusa steps back, putting space between them once again. Atsumu turns and curls both of his hands around the guardrail and blows out a breath. 

“Good,” he says, mostly to himself. “That’s good. You good?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but his face lacks the usual strain, no the lines of tension around his eyes or downward pull of his mouth. 

“Enjoy your watch.”

“Wait, yer not gonna stay?”

“Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

Atsumu throws his arms out as Sakusa heads for the ladder. “Really, Omi-Omi?”

“Stop calling me that.”

Despite the desire to see Sakusa struggle to get back on the ladder one-handed, Atsumu doesn’t actually want to watch him plummet to his untimely death. So he steps inside and offers his hand, which Sakusa takes, getting his footing before letting go to grab onto the topmost rung. 

“Don’t know who I’d be more afraid of catchin’ me climbin’ a ladder, right now, Kita or Suna.”

“Suna,” Sakusa says without hesitation.

“Hang on a sec.” Atsumu squats down until they’re at eye level. Very carefully, he takes hold of the fabric of his mask and pulls it back up again. He was right, it does look badass. Atsumu smiles and judging by the way the corners of Sakusa’s eyes crease, he does as well. “Have a good nap.”

Sakusa nods and slowly descends the ladder. Atsumu watches him the whole way down, waving when he gets to the ground and looks up through the hatch at him.

\--

Despite the rule in place where no more than two of them leave at a time, only Sakusa stays behind when they go to the village for the solar panels. His face is absolutely thunderous when Kita tells him he’s not going. Sakusa’s right arm dominant and without use of it, he’s vulnerable; he’ll make them all vulnerable.

Atsumu winks at him on the way out. “Back soon, Omi.”

“You better be,” he grumbles, slamming the gate behind them and jamming the lock into place.

After the third glance over his shoulder, Osamu turns his head forward with a palm to his cheek.

“Focus, Romeo,” he says.

Atsumu sets his bat back against his shoulder and nods.

It’s clear that there’s been activity in the village and it doesn’t look like clickers, either. They’re all a little on edge as Osamu climbs up onto the roof, helping Suna up behind him. Atsumu stays on the ground with Kita, keeping watch while Osamu and Suna work on getting the panels loose.

“Other survivors have been here,” Atsumu says, keeping his voice low.

“I know.”

He looks at Kita. “Whadda we do?”

“Get the panels and get back to the prison.” Kita meets his gaze. “And worry about that later.”

Atsumu nods as Osamu calls down to them that they’ve got the first panel detached.

They manage to get what they came for, carrying two panels back with them, without being disturbed. No clickers, no survivors, just the four of them sweating their asses off in the summer sun.

Sakusa is waiting at the gate for them, almost in the exact spot he’d been in when they left. Atsumu groans when he and Kita lower their panel to the ground, putting his hands on his low back and bending to relive the strain. There’s a furrow between Sakusa’s eyes as he watches and Atsumu grins at him.

“All good, Omi.”

Atsumu feels the familiar giddy rush of nerves in his belly when he reaches over and wraps his fingers around Sakusa’s. It’s only for the briefest of moments but Osamu notices and nudges him in the ribs. 

“Think you can flirt after we drag these things inside?”

Atsumu’s face heats even as he lets go, making a mocking sound at his brother. If Sakusa looks a little smug, Atsumu doesn’t mention it.

\--

That night, Sakusa climbs up to the roof with him again. Osamu is on tower duty and Atsumu really does not see the point. Once the sun sets, the grounds are absolutely pitch black dark; there is nothing to see, only listen to. Atsumu has heard clickers croaking and screeching in the night before, echoing through the trees, and it’s spine chilling to be up there alone, unable to see anything. 

Atsumu doesn’t sleep well when Osamu is up there, so he goes to Sakusa, who surprises him by agreeing to follow him back to the roof. He’s quiet and tired but he isn’t wearing a mask at all, and Atsumu can make out the shape of his bare face in the moonlight.

He leans close to Sakusa on the ledge, the sides of their biceps touching. When Sakusa doesn’t pull away, Atsumu turns and presses a kiss to his shoulder through his shirt sleeve.

Sakusa doesn’t shrug out from under him then, either.

There’s a loud, screeching cry in the dark, echoing from far off, and Atsumu startles upright again. They both stand still, listening, but no other sounds follow. Atsumu closes his eyes, rubbing his face with both hands. 

“Ya think there’re other survivors close by?” he asks.

Sakusa’s hair rustles in the breeze. “I think it’s only a matter of time before more show up here.”

“Does that worry you?”

“No.”

“Does anything worry you?”

Sakusa turns his head to look at him, his eyes a bottomless void in the night. “Yes,” he says at length.

Atsumu doesn’t need to ask because he thinks he knows. The heat in his chest warms him as the air around them grows steadily cooler. He leans into Sakusa just a little bit more.

“Omi?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“D’ya think… maybe I could sleep in with you tonight?”

He can feel Sakusa’s gaze on him and Atsumu takes a breath and looks at him too. It’s difficult to tell what Sakusa is thinking when he can clearly see all of his features, but it’s damn-near impossible to do in this moment. So he bites his tongue and just waits for Sakusa to tell him.

An eternity passes before Sakusa swallows audibly and then speaks. “We can try.”

Atsumu’s toes curl in his shoes, his throat going dry. “Okay,” he says, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice.

“Okay,” Sakusa replies, looking out into the darkness again.

Despite the thrum of excitement in his belly, Atsumu turns slowly and presses his forehead to Sakusa’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Neither of them moves for a long time, and Atsumu just breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> I love and appreciate comments and kudos so much ❤


End file.
